


it's rotten work

by halfofmysoul



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Billy Hargrove Lives, Billy has powers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Jim "Chief" Hopper Lives, M/M, Post-Season/Series 03, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts, will be updated as i write
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2020-07-29 03:11:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20075164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfofmysoul/pseuds/halfofmysoul
Summary: Here's my take on what would happen if Billy had survived, with a little telekinetic help, and achieved the life he deserved to live.Featuring Steve being a disaster bi, Cheetos and Robin being perfect. Not in that particular order.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HI SO ITS 3AM AND IF THERE ARE TYPOS. DEAL WITH IT
> 
> Seriously, I love these guys and the s3 finale left a bad taste in my mouth. Billy deserved better than that so we WILL be turning canon on its head and making it gay and happier. Because it's what i do 
> 
> Also I don't own these characters so don't sue me?

Steve couldn’t really remember what had happened between emptying his guts in the mall bathroom and watching a big goop monster fall dead on the mall floor. It was more of a blur, like he’d watched through a haze, memories that he hadn’t partook in. He knew Billy had been hurt, that he and El held off the monster and that fireworks had been involved. Maybe the drugs had helped, coupled with a beating from a Russian soldier because this was his life and shit like this happens.

Billy had torn the thing apart, screaming as gooey limbs crashed into storefronts and the body fell to the floor before Hopper even radioed in. He’d stumbled back, his body a gaunt mess of various wounds, blood, and bruises, and began convulsing. Steve hadn’t been thinking at all when he rushed down the escalator. He’d held him up to stop him choking on his own blood, panicking as the guy gargled and cried in his arms, curled into him like a child.

He recalled watching military types storm the mall around them, sirens too loud and lights too bright in the dead of the night. Too much blood in his nails as they carried Billy away with Hopper following, arm in a sling. All Steve could do was shake in Joyce’s arms as she pulled a blanket over his frame and watch the kids huddle together.

Billy had continued to shake, to cry, as they carried him out. Some kind of black goop leaked from each puncture wound, from his mouth, his nose. They’d struggled to restrain him to clean his wounds and Steve had watched incredulously as a nurse was thrown across the parking lot, an ambulance door ripped from its hinges following. Billy had fallen back against the bed and Steve caught how his nose bled black. Before he knew it Owens had turned up and urged them all home and to forget what they saw.

Bullshit.

He remembered racing home and burning his uniform, the smell of mangled flesh and goop still present even after scrubbing his skin raw and watching black swirl into red at his feet. He remembered waking up on the couch with a scream ripped from his throat, clammy and unable to breathe.

He was never going to forget any of this, not if his subconscious could help it. Not El’s screams, not the monster or the bodies or Billy’s shaking frame curled into him. Some kind of bitter laugh bubbled as he lay and watched the moon fall and the sun greet him; he really thought Barb and the demogorgon was the worst shit that could’ve happened to him. He’d had no clue. All he knew was that he wanted out of this town regardless of what happened. 

So he’d headed to the Byers’ as soon as the sun rose, unsure of what else to do. 

El opened the door, spoon in her left hand and a jar of peanut butter in the right. The sight brought out a chuckle, he couldn’t help it, and she grinned back. “Bad sleep?”

“Uh, yeah. You could say that.” Steve scratched his neck, noting Joyce and Will at the table. The woman waved, phone resting on her shoulder. “You hear anything about Hopper? Billy?”

She nodded. “Hop is okay. He had to have surgery to take the bullet out. Doctor told us to go home, that he can come home today. We’re waiting to know when.”

“Shit,” He added simply, following her to the table. Will smiled, pushing a plate of toast at him.

“Yeah, you look like it,” He shrugged when Steve raised a brow, his gentle laugh teasing but sympathetic all the same. He admired the kid’s effort at normalcy in spite of the bags under his eyes. Steve didn’t need a mirror to know that he looked the same. 

“Thanks, kid.”

He listened in on Joyce’s conversation, certain El was doing the same, tearing into the toast as he did. It was burnt, butter scarcely applied, but he ate in a couple quick chews. He couldn’t remember the last thing he ate. Maybe that popcorn… from the trash. Jesus.

Joyce looked to Steve with what he’d come to accept as natural, motherly warmth and he ignored the dark circles under her eyes in favour of the light within them. 

“I’ve been trying to find out about Billy, too, I promise. I called at their place twice today and their father was so dismissive, he sounded _ bored _. I may have.. lost my patience with him.” 

“She told him to go fuck himself,” Will added with a grin, mouth full. 

“Yeah, well. I know his type, I don’t want the boy who saved my kids to go back to that place. Something about it doesn’t seem right.”

He thought back to the night they’d fought in this very room. Billy had been so amped up, his chest blotted with old bruises that he’d thought nothing of. Put it down to the guy being some macho type, throwing himself into business he had no part in and getting beat for it. Or something.

But it made sense. How hot-blooded the guy was, how he was always itching for a fight, so amped up. 

When he’d been on top of Steve, nostril clotted and fists raised, he’d laughed.

He thought of the way he lay bleeding out in his arms last night. The way he’d sobbed, heaved breathes into Steve’s shoulder and gripped the uniform in his fist. It broke his heart.

This monster fed on negativity, insecurity, loneliness. And Billy had it all by the bucketload.

Her gaze flickered to Will, who picked at the crusts on his plate and pretended not to notice. “All I know is that he survived and Owens is the reason he’s not in some lab right now being tested on. And I know he shouldn’t go back to that house.”

“So he’s okay?” Steve asked, surprised at his own reaction. He couldn’t imagine what Billy was going through right now. Will had barely gotten through it, and he’d had an entire family to fall back to. Billy had nobody.

“The only thing that they told me was that he made it through the night. Sorry, sweetie. I wish I knew more.”

Something about Joyce’s warmness, so open and kind in spite of all that she was going through, had him choking back tears. He sniffed, nodded and shoved more toast in his mouth.

“He saved me,” El spoke up from the end of the table, staring right at Steve. “He could have ran. He chose to protect me. He was surprised that he hurt it much as he did. I owe my life to him so I _ have _to help him.”

Will cut in. “I thought the gate being closed meant-"

“He fought it off _ before _the gate closed and he killed it. I was too weak, remember?”

It sounded insane, even as he spoke, in spite of everything that he’d already seen. Billy fucking Hargrove having telekenisis and defying death itself.

“What if what happened to him, and hear me out here because I know it sounds _ insane _, what if it made him stronger? Made him more like you?”

The Billy he knew was a stubborn pain in his ass, never giving up a fight. The Billy he’d seen in the mall had been terrified, haunted, but defiant all the same. Screamed in the face of Death and tore it apart.

El’s head tilts to the side. “I just thought maybe it was maybe the Mindflayer’s strength leaving him, I’m not sure.”

“Shit,” Steve ran his hands through the knots in his hair, unkempt and greasy, “I watched them take him away last night. He threw a nurse halfway across the damn lot, had the door follow. I just- I can’t ignore that. He’s unstable.”

“He hurts,” El agreed, face fallen.

Joyce hums, “There’s no way of knowing if you’re right or if he’s just still sick, though. I gotta be honest, I don’t think it's a good idea to go in and upset a boy who needs to heal.”

“I can find him. Then we can talk to him if he wants us to. Help him. He could stay with me and Hop,” Something in El’s expression soured, “He can’t go back there. I won’t let that happen.”

Joyce nodded, passing a dishcloth El’s way and catching her hand. She ran her thumb across the girl’s knuckles and Steve felt the need to be anywhere but this table. His skin itched, his chest hollow where it ached. He couldn’t remember the last time his mother had said more than two words to him that weren’t about work.

“I’m so proud of you. I’m sure Hop will be happy to let him stay, especially after what he did for you, alright?” Joyce’s smile didn’t really meet her eyes, but he noticed both of her kids visibly relaxed at her warmth. She cast Steve a look and she settled the phone on the table. “Will, why don’t you see about making up Steve some coffee?”

“Oh no, I don’t-” He met Joyce’s pointed look. It wasn’t a suggestion, he mused, and there was no denying Joyce Byers. “Okay. Yeah, sure. Thanks, Ms Byers.”

El hopped off of the chair and made her way to the living area.

“You don’t have to tell me anything, honey, I want you to know that. But are you alright?”

Was he?

He hadn’t felt right, felt normal, for a long time. He’d barely passed any exams because the place reminded him too much of a decaying past and pretending he was the same guy they hailed as their king. Pretending every waking second he wasn’t alone with those fucking demogorgons in his head.

“No, and I don’t think I will be.” He felt a little relief from voicing it aloud to someone, but this wasn’t the time or place. This wasn’t about him. “But, uh, anyways. We need to focus on the matter at hand.”

She looked to El, who moved to sit in front of the television set that played only static, staring down at the cloth with a frown.

“Promise me that you’ll come here if you’re struggling, Steve, I mean it. Talk to somebody, keeping it bottled up doesn’t hold out in the long run. Believe me.”

“Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t even- with Will-”

Joyce reached over and took his hand, looking at him with the same intensity she had when pulling that blanket over him. “This hasn’t been easy on any of us. It's okay to admit that. I want you to feel safe here, to feel heard. Just as much as the kids are under your wing. Now, I’m going to get on this guy’s ass and make sure we bring Hopper home today. Alright?”

He drew a shaky breath, throat tight and enclosed. He didn’t trust himself to speak and so he nodded. She squeezed his hand and let go as Will came back to the table. He murmured a thank you, feeling small, and Will pushed a can into his hand.

“Whipped cream.” The foam in Will’s own mug towered above the rim, bowing under pressure of the chocolate he’d dumped on top. The kid grinned. “I made hot chocolate instead. I ate the rest of the chocolate on the walk here.”

“It’s like eight feet.”

“I walk slow?”

Joyce smiled as she picked up the phone again and stood to make her way down the hall. Whether that was to not dissuade El or to make sure they couldn’t pry, he wasn’t sure. Didn’t really want to know.

He took his mug with him to the living room and sat beside El, crossing his legs beneath him.

“How’s it going?"

“I see him,” She spoke simply, almost a mumble.

She began to shake slightly, continuing to mumble something he couldn’t understand. Blood slid from her nose.

He ignored how his heart jolted as she began to tremble more and reached her hand out for him. Was Billy dead after all? Is that what she was seeing?

Steve’s skin itched, “Is he okay? What can you see?”

Slowly, she nodded, as though hearing him from far away. Which, he supposed was the case. Nobody has really taken the time to explain, well, any of this superpower shit to him or how it worked.

“He’s talking about the mindflayer, what he made him do. He’s so… lost.”

Steve’s brows furrowed, “Lost, how?”

“...Lonely.”

El pulled the cloth from her face, blood dripping into her mouth and tears from her eyes. She looked Steve’s way but her eyes were out of focus. 

“I couldn’t understand a lot. But he’s… he’s just so sad, Steve. He was crying, saying sorry. He just-” She broke off into hiccupped sobs and Steve pulled her into a hug.

“It’s okay, you did amazing, El. You’re okay, you’re here.”

She sniffled against his shoulder, and when she spoke, it was between heaves of uneven breathes. “He looked like Mama.”

His stomach churned with nausea as he rubbed her back and blinked away his own, hot tears. He looked over her to Joyce at the phone, her eyes wide and full. Then to Will, who fumbled over to hold her.

He’d only heard a little about her mother, knew that the fuckers at Hawkins lab had pulled some shit and left her catatonic. It was fucking barbaric. Shit.

Steve backed off, gingerly keeping a hand on her shoulder and squeezing. “Did he still look…”

“Sick, yes,” She murmured, “But he didn’t _ feel _it. I touched his cheek and felt power. So much that he doesn’t understand, it was like... like a current. Like electricity.”

“Is that bad for your, uh... kind?”

A tear merged with the red below her nose as she snorted a laugh. She hastily wiped at it with shaking fingertips.

“I don’t think so. It could be if he doesn’t learn to control it. I think he just needs a friend, Steve.”

A friend. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen any of the bastards that hung off of Billy in school by his side once this summer. Not at the pool when the kids had dragged him there and definitely not at the mall where Billy would come in for a cherry jubilee and smalltalk at least once a week. 

He could be a friend. Billy was an insufferable piece of shit but Steve himself hadn’t exactly always been sunshine and rainbows. But he’d seen how shaken up Billy was last night. After sacrificing himself for them all. Maybe things could be different. After all, he thought, there was no harm in trying to help someone who needed it more than most.

“You get a look at his room number?”

* * *

“Family. Only.”

Steve drummed his fingers on the desk counter, glaring at the wall behind the nurse stationed there.

“Look,” He squinted at her nametag, “..Laura, I’m gonna be honest. His only family is his step-sister who can’t be here. And I’d really appreciate it if you let me see him and reassure her that he’s okay.”

Her frown deepened.

“Please?” He threw in a smile, the bashful kind, that he knew would get him anything he wanted a year ago.

She stared back at him, bemused, and shook her head. “It’s hospital policy, I’m sorry.”

He inhaled, looking to the ceiling and trying to will himself to converse like a normal, functioning human being and not a guy running on zero sleep and long since worn off adrenaline.

“Alright, here’s the thing. I will get in there somehow, so. You may as well just let me.”

“Are you attempting bribery?”

“I- no! Would… unless that would work?”

She blinked. Blinked again. “Family. Only.”

Fuck this. 

He leaned closer, looking her dead in the eye. 

“He was part of the disaster at the mall, okay? And I’m really worried, I haven’t slept,” He made sure to widen his eyes just a little. It wasn’t really a lie. It just wasn’t the entire picture. But she didn’t need to know that. “You’d be doing me a huge favour. Just ten minutes.”

“Fine. You’re lucky that I’m in a good mood today.” She exhales, ripping open a pack of beef jerky. “He’s on a lot of drugs, he might not be very responsive. Room twenty-six.”

He ignores the impulse to pump his fist and thanks her, making his way down the hall to room 26.

Steve had no idea what he was expecting. Maybe for the guy to be pulling IV’s out, trashing shit and demanding to be let out right now.

But he’s just laid there. Various tubes connect him to a machine, full of the same black goop that Billy had been drowning in last night. Fresh bandages and gauze make up most of his clammy torso and his own twinges in sympathy. His figure is thinner than he remembers, cut up and red and his hair slick with sweat. 

Steve swallows down a lump of nausea and walks to sit in the chair beside the bed.

Billy watches him enter, his face hollow of expression. His eyes are puffy, bloodshot. They’re still so intimidating as they follow him to the chair.

Still, he says nothing.

Steve gestures dumbly to the bed, putting down a pack of Reeses’ he’d gotten from the vending machine by the sole card sat alongside wilting flowers on the desk. He doesn’t pry.

“They paid for everything,” Billy rasped, nodding to the card. “Guess they don’t want me telling anyone about my _ accident _.”

He swallowed, looking back to the doorway and away from Steve. He had a scar on his cheek, raised and ugly. His voice was stripped of confidence, replaced by wavering numbness. 

“Why are you here? You fucking pity me, Harrington?”

“No,” Steve answered straight away, ignoring the guilt churning away in his stomach. “I was scared. I held you while you just… man, I thought it killed you.”

Billy snorted and Steve was drawn to the way his chest seized, his breath catching.

“Guess it isn’t that easy,” Billy looked to him for the first time, a sad, little quirk of his lip making Steve’s wobble. “I don’t know why I’m still here either, and I know everyone knows I’m a freak now, too. So you can go.”

“Billy,” Steve felt his eyes prick and ignored it, “I should’ve told you about all of this shit going on and I didn’t. I’m so sorry.”

Billy’s nostrils flared as a panel above flickered. It highlighted the moisture spilling down his cheek.

“Well I was fucking awful to you and your cheery band of nerds, so it's whatever. I get why you didn’t.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” Steve tapped the arm of the chair, metal and foreboding and uncomfortable. “I was a dick too, alright? Shit. You deserved to know. I should have told you that night.”

Billy picked at one of the smaller strips of gauze as he digested what Steve had said. It was quiet for a while, save for the rickety rise and fall of his chest.

“The girl said I killed the thing. That true?”

Steve breathed out a chuckle born of nerves and nodded. Witnessing that had felt fucking unreal. The entire night had. 

“Yeah, uh. You split the thing in half, actually. Then you remember, uh, collapsing obviously. Then Chief Hopper closed the portal and I guess that sent it back because the body disappeared. The chief came out with a couple scrapes, bullet in his shoulder. He’s just getting fixed up. We were really lucky.”

Billy’s brows furrowed deeper and he rolled the blanket between his fingers. He looked so frail, despite his height and great build. Withdrawn in on himself, trying to take up as little space as possible, as though he wanted to disappear. It was jarring; Billy Hargrove craved attention, bathed in it. And now he lay hiding from it.

Steve heard metal bend and his breath caught.

“The doctor that came here with me, Owens, he gave me the gist of everything that went down, all three times the gate was opened. But I don’t remember pulling any of last night. I just remember feeling that it wanted me to kill the girl and I _ tried- _I tried so hard to fight it.” Billy sucked in a heavy breath, tears falling free as his eyes cast down. Steve’s heart lurched. “Then she showed me a memory, and I looked down at her and just… She’s just a kid. And I wanted to protect her so I just did. Then suddenly I was in so much pain and then you were there and it hurt so bad. I didn’t mean to throw that nurse. I didn’t.”

“I believe you,” Steve gave a smile. Billy stared. “Was it a good memory? The one she showed you?”

Billy’s smile was genuine, though closed-off and not at all for Steve. Reminiscent. “My favourite.”

Still, he persisted, “Yeah?”

Billy sniffled, pink blotching high on his cheeks as he looked away and the door frame splintered.

“Is this why you’re here? Maxine send you to hear out my sob stories? Check the thing didn’t actually put me in the ground?”

“She didn’t, I haven’t heard from her, actually.” He admitted. And then he couldn’t stop. “I just- I saw it puncture you, Billy. I _ felt _you bleed out. I thought I watched you die in my fucking arms. I don’t care whatever shit happened a year ago, it’s done with, far as I’m concerned. I mean it.”

“I beat the shit out of you, smashed a plate over your head,” He shook his head with an incredulous raise of his brows, lips quirked. It felt good, Steve thought, to see him express anything at all. “And you don’t care?”

“Not anymore,” Steve shrugged, “I’m just tired, Billy. The creature haunts me every time I close my eyes. I can’t go home without hearing it, without seeing it. I can’t go anywhere without that fucking bat in my backseat and I have to call Dustin every night just to check all the kids are safe. I couldn’t care less. I’m Switzerland.”

“Switzerland,” Billy’s head lols to the side a little as he yawns, and, oh yeah, morphine and all. He watched Steve for a moment with a funny tilt of his mouth. Almost a smile. “Those Reeses’ Pieces gonna eat themselves?”

Steve snorts out a shocked laugh, sounding a little too choked, and watches Billy’s lips lift in the corner. “Yeah, help yourself. I hear you California types love everything with, like, frozen bananas and almonds and shit.”

“Hey, fuck you, almonds are underrated.” Billy wheezed, holding his chest where the gown protruded in the outline of gauze. A gleam of sweat beads in the centre of his chest and Steve can’t even fathom the level of pain that he’s experiencing. 

Billy reached forward to take the box and hissed, falling back as though he’d been burnt. His cheeks flushed and Steve pretended not to notice how he struggled to get himself together.

Without a word, Steve poured a handful out and placed them in an empty Styrofoam cup. 

“Here. You can get the shitty, brown pieces. Orange dye is better than the brown and I _ did _buy them.”

Billy’s bottom lip wobbled and he nodded, so slow that Steve would likely have not noticed if he wasn’t watching so closely, and took the cup from Steve’s grip.

They sat in silence as they shared the candy until Billy’s eyelids began to droop. It was almost pleasant, with the fans whirring above and bird chatter through the small gap in the window.

“Thank you, Harrington,” Billy spoke, eyes closed, so quiet that Steve barely made it out.

“Steve,” He corrected, his heart pounding. He was met by gentle, evened-out breathing.

* * *

See, the thing is, Steve hadn’t meant to visit Billy again so soon.

He hadn’t. And yet.

He couldn’t really stop thinking about him, or what El had said. He was worried about the guy.

He’d turned up to the Byers’ again the next day, a little later this time, having somehow gotten a little sleep. It’d been disruptive, full of Russians and goo monsters towering above him, but he’d managed something.

Joyce had opened the door and pulled him into a quick hug, inviting him inside with the promise of food. 

El then waved his way, her gaze focused on the broom that swept the floor at her command. Right.

“We’re going to pick Hop up,” Joyce said, and El’s grin grew. “Do you want to come with us? I could use the extra car.”

He’d thought of the alternate, going back to the open silence of his house where nightmares roamed free, and nodded.

The kids chatted openly in the car, introducing Steve to some new D&D manual that Mike and Lucas had bought Will as an apology. He listened with vague interest, to Joyce’s amusement as she watched on in the rear mirror.

El had asked Will if she and Max were welcome to join in their games and Will looked at her like she’d grown another head before giving an enthusiastic nod. That he needed them against Dustin who was impossible to beat. Or something. 

Their excitement made him happy, genuinely happy.

These kids had been through so much, completely stripped of any semblance of a regular childhood. The thought of the end of the world only bringing them closer together as friends, as family, even, was insane. It’d only taken getting his ass beaten several times and getting kidnapped by Russians to realise that these kids, the Byers’ and Robin, were all the friends he needed. True friends. Shared trauma, or some shit.

El had known Hopper was coming before either he, Will or Joyce and raced ahead. Hopper met her halfway, crowding down to her level and pulling her close with a laugh. Her head rested on his shoulder, and when she lifted up to allow Joyce to greet him too, the material was wet.

El stood back at Steve’s side as they spoke, and Steve worried at his lip. Maybe she’d noticed his unease at being somewhere he didn’t really belong.

She took his hand in her own. She was shaking.

“You alright?” He asked, squeezing her hand a little as she trembled like a leaf.

“Alright,” She confirmed. “I thought I was going to lose him. I still believed it until now and I… I’ve just been so scared.”

“Hey,” Steve pulled her in for a one-armed hug, watching Hopper’s concern rise. “You love him, that’s perfectly okay to feel. But he’s fine. You’re gonna go home and forget all of this crap and enjoy the rest of your summer with your dad and your friends. You hear me?”

“Hear you,” She sniffled, smile growing when Hopper approached.

The Chief’s face split in a smile at the sight of them and he held out a hand. “Ready to go home? I know there’s some frozen waffles and a couple of Westerns waiting for us.”

El took her father’s hand, happy to be a kid for just that moment, and Steve felt tears prick in his eyes. He’d never had that kind of closeness with his parents, and of course, neither had she. 

Neither had Billy.

“Steve, you coming?”

“Uh,” He shuffled on his feet, “I was thinking of going to see Billy, actually? And I’ll catch up with you guys after?”

“Sure thing, kid.” Hopper’s face did this weird thing and he nodded. “Actually, you tell him to think about what I said and let me know what his decision is, alright? The least I can do is give him a roof after what he did for her, y’know?”

Steve nodded, “Shit, of course.”

Hopper gave a smile of relief and he and El left to catch up with the Byers’, his left hand in El’s and his right in Joyce’s.

About time.

Billy was awake when he got there, staring at the wall. Or, looking at nothing, he thought sounded more appropriate. He looked strung out and worn and, Steve realised, black crusted beneath his nose.

Several emotions danced across his face when he spotted Steve, and he settled on a smile born of exhaustion. Like he was figuring out how exactly to express how he felt outside of numbness. He wasn’t quite sure how to deal with the relief at the sight.

“So,” Steve clears his throat, spots another two cards propped up that weren’t there yesterday. “You’re not dead, then.”

“Lucky for you,” He followed Steve’s line of sight and hummed. “They’re from Max and, uh, from the Chief. He dropped by not that long ago.”

“Oh, shit.”

Billy sucks at his lip, chapped and bitten. “You’re not gonna poke your nose in and ask why?”

“Nah, I’m working on not picking at threads I shouldn’t, y’know. Building character and all.”

There’s a flash of a grin and Billy’s dipping his head with an exhale that _ sounds _ like a laugh. He takes hold of a book atop the blanket and folds over a page. _ White Fang _.

“He and the girl, they want to help me with this,” He gestures vaguely. “Guess it's a good idea. My old man won’t want me back in his precious little house as soon as he realises I’m a freak.”

“You’re not. Quit that shit right now. Would you say that to Eleven?” Steve frowns, helping himself to the box of Nerds on the countertop and pouring them into his mouth.

Billy watched him pour the remnants of the candy in his mouth.“Of course I wouldn’t, Jesus. And those are mine, you dick.”

Steve bit his cheek to keep from smiling. He sat in the chair beside the bed and twiddled his fingers. “So, what is it that you can, uh, you can do? Like... crush things?”

Billy’s eyes narrow at Steve and he feels the metal beneath him churn, just a little, but it's enough for him to rush to stand and near fall on his ass. Billy’s chuff of laughter even sounds sympathetic.

He doesn’t think he’s ever heard him laugh before.

Billy clears his throat. “I think so, but it's like. It's more than that, too? I think it just makes me stronger. I mean, I tore that monster in half, according to you. And I can bend shit, crush it, I made the garbage can float earlier. I don’t really know.”

“Shit?”

“Yeah,” Billy looks downward. “I don’t know how to- it happens a lot without me even meaning to. I can’t really control it all the time. It's so fucking humiliating.”

Steve brought his knee up and rested his arm across it. He gestured to the trashcan in the corner, twisted in on itself. “That what happened? You get pissed off?”

Billy’s cheeks tinged and that’s the only answer Steve needs.

“They were cleaning my… the, uh. Y’know.”

“You don’t need to talk about it,” Steve assures, rushing to cut in. “Unless you want to. Sorry for poking where I shouldn’t.”

Billy simply blinks which is. Alright. 

“Hey, you’re bleeding.”

Billy’s hand came away black, “That happen to the kid, too?”

“Yeah, the more she uses it, the worse they get. That’s why she couldn’t use them in the mall the other night. She’d been using them all day, see?”

“Right,” Billy chews on his lip, his eyes skirting to the door and having it slam shut. He heard glass split. “I need to show you something.”

“Yeah, dude, sure,” Steve agreed, if not a little uneasy.

He stood, tapping his foot in the vague tune of some Queen song he’d heard on the radio in the car on the way here, as Billy sat up. He showed only a little discomfort as he did, his teeth clenched together.

Then he started to peel one of the bandages off.

“Oh my God, no. What the hell?!”

Billy’s cheeks tinged. “It’s not- Jesus, just trust me.”

Steve looked through the gaps of his fingers. 

“Not if you’re gonna show me fucking open wounds, no!”

“Steve,” He sighed, and Steve pulled his hand away to see Billy pull the gauze away. For almost nothing to be there. Merely a raised white line of flesh. 

“Wait.” He dropped his hand. “How the fuck did you manage that?”

“Just a few of them are gone, like one or two. They were changing my bandages this morning and they were so fucking disgusting. Like, black shit leaking out and the fl-”

“Jesus fucking christ, I don’t need the specifics.”

Billy narrowed his eyes. “I just, like, thought that I wanted them to close up already ‘cause they hurt like fuck. And voila.”

“Huh,” Steve hummed. He reached forward to trace the scar on Billy’s arm, black and mangled and raised above the rest of his skin. Billy flinched but said nothing, only stared up at him.

“You still have this one,” He said dumbly, and then he was reaching for the mangled line that fell across Billy’s cheek. His hand was made to hover back by an immovable force. “Why?”

Billy blinked and his smile was smaller and, somehow, that was worse. It made Steve feel odd, made him squirm. 

“I don’t know,” He was still looking at Steve. “I guess it doesn’t want to leave. Even if it annoys the fuck out of me, it's actually not so bad.”

Steve’s mouth lifted. “Maybe.”

Billy breathed out what could be a laugh and his brows drew together. “Seriously, I get you feel bad for me, I do. But you don’t have to keep coming to make sure I don’t blow my brains out or whatever. I don’t want a therapist.”

“Has it not occurred to you that maybe I just need a friend, too?”

It was true, really. He had Robin, and the kids, sure. But he was still so fucking lonely.

Billy’s eyes dropped, along with his smile, and Steve felt like a complete piece of shit. Felt like he was back in that alley pressed to a cop car, like the last time he drove away from Tommy and Carol.

“This isn’t pity.”

He met Billy’s eyes and felt his cheeks flame, his stomach churn with nerves, shame, or a toxic blend of the two that had him swallowing away bile. He’d never admitted any of this shit. But it was true, he needed someone, and he was damn sure Billy did too.

“I’m fucking alone, I’m always alone, in this empty house and my brain never fucking shuts up. You, while being a genuine pain in my ass, turned out to be a good person, somewhere deep down. Like, really, deep-rooted inside-”

“I get it,” Billy exhaled a laugh. “I’m an asshole and you want me to hold your hand and tell you we’re both fucked up but we’re gonna be okay, Jesus.”

“You’d be helping me. I think we both need it,” Steve nodded, as if convincing himself. “I do. Look, I reckon you should take Hopper up on his offer. El can help you get control of your ability. And he’s a good man. Then if you ever needed to talk, y’know. I’m not that far from the cabin. And you’re not allowed to give me shit if I call over at four in the morning ‘cause I saw a shadow.”

Billy squinted. “Only if you don’t mind stuff being ripped apart because I heard the wind and thought I was about to watch myself die.”

“I’ve handled worse.”

Billy shrugged his reply and didn’t say his stance on Hopper’s premise. He wasn’t surprised at all. He just hoped the guy would accept help and not let whatever stubbornness refused to leave take hold.

“You wanna go grab some cheetos and half them? You look starved, Harrington.”

_ He actually wants my company _, Steve thought dumbly. He’s too proud to voice it, obviously, but it makes Steve grin like a loon. Billy glares back and it's almost normal.

“Yeah, man. Sure. You like the Jalapeno kind?”

Billy pulls a face, cheeks tinged pink.

“Cheesy it is.”

When he got back to the room, Billy had _ White Fang _ opened and settled against his raised knee, his eyes trekking across the page. Steve ignored the coiling in his stomach and shook the bag.

Billy looked up with a curse before washing it over with a little smile. It suited him, happiness. Something that should come with ease. 

“Y’know,” Billy voices when they’re mostly through the bag, “I wasn’t serious. You didn’t have to- I mean.” He breathed out a laugh lacking humour, “Shit, I’m not good at this, okay. I don’t know how to say it. You could’ve just left.”

“Thank you,” Steve pops a chip in his mouth, licks his fingers clean. “See, not that hard, is it?”

“Fine. Thank you. It was nice of you. Asshole.”

“Ah, well. You can buy them next time.”

Billy’s mouth opened and closed then he looked down and back to the book.

“Sure. I mean, I’ve not really got anything else on my plate, so.”

* * *

Steve continued to visit Billy the rest of the time he was in hospital, bringing him books that Max had taken from his bookshelf. 

Max turned up a week in. She’d managed to pack up a duffel full of his things; his clothes, his hair products and a couple of records and the photos nobody was supposed to know he had of his mother kept beneath his mattress. But none of that mattered to him, to either of them. She’d dumped the bag at Steve’s feet and raced to her brother who had openly sobbed and pulled her into his arms, injuries and exhaustion be damned.

It had made Steve’s heart break to see how all of his belongings fit in a single bag. He’d stood in the corner of the room and fought the lump in his throat as he watched them grip each other so tight. Billy had looked him in the eye over Max’s shoulder and smiled, asked them both to stay, and Steve’s breath caught in his throat.

He suspected she and El visited after that when he was stuck at work given how one afternoon after an early morning shift, Billy had actually grinned upon seeing him arrive and pulled him into the room without moving a finger. Then, after making sure Steve was watching, he bent and unbent a Coke can in half.

The way he smiled up at Steve had brought out one of his own, and some kind of unspoken tension had been broken entirely. Billy was less guarded with him after that, even calling once in the night because he’d had a nightmare. Even if he denied that that was the reason why. They’d spoken until the sun came up about all kinds of shit until Steve had fallen asleep with the cord wrapped in his fingers.

Today was the day Billy was getting out, after nearing a month stuck in the place.

Billy had asked him to come, even sounding shy over the phone when he’d explained his nerves about going to stay with Hopper and El. Sure, she’d been visiting and he suspected Hopper had been too, but he supposed it all felt much more real now. 

Hopper was already there when he got there, no El in sight.

“She’s at Wheeler’s,” Hopper gave by way of explanation, slinging a duffel over his shoulder.

“Hey,” Billy bit into a smile, stood in a sweater that pooled at his wrists. “You didn’t have to come. You knew I was getting out today.”

“Yeah, well, I had nothing else to do, so.”

“Uh huh,” Hopper’s gaze flitted between the two of them, his mouth lifted, “Since you’re here, you can go and hassle the damn receptionist for his medication already. I’ve been waiting an hour.”

“They all hate me, man.”

Billy grinned. “Oh yeah, they really can’t stand him.”

Hopper rests his hands at his hips, looking between them both.

“Fine. Guess I’ll just have to flash the badge.”

Billy breathes out a laugh as Hopper’s figure retreats, and he gestures to the bed. “You wanna sit? He’s gonna take a while. Claire’s on shift today.”

“Aw, man, is she the one that made you hobble down to make sure I wasn’t trying to rob poor, defenseless you last week?”

“Bingo,” He nods, sitting beside Steve and swinging his legs, knocking his feet into Steve’s own. “Thank you for coming. I’m really fucking nervous.”

See, this was new; Billy trying to explain his emotions. But this whole thing was new. He never would’ve dreamt of the guy that made senior year hell becoming a good friend. But here they were. Swinging their legs together like children. 

It was refreshing.

“Do you want a lift to the cabin?”

_ Translation: Do you want to ride with me because I know you don’t like small spaces and Hopper’s van is small enough that I know you’ll withdraw and panic and you daren’t admit this anywhere but the high of the night. _

“You’ve been so kind to me.” Billy blows out a breath. “I don’t deserve it.”

“Maybe I just really want to get in the Chief’s good books.”

“I’m serious,” Billy met his gaze. “What I’ve done… I don’t deserve any of this.”

“No, you’re right. You deserve better. And I want to be a part of that.”

“What ever would I do without you,” Billy deadpanned, his voice just deep enough that it gets to Steve even in a room that reeks of rubbing alcohol and sick. His smile falters when Steve knocks his hand settled on the bed between them, testing. Billy’s gaze follows and he says nothing. He also makes no move to push him away. 

He runs his thumb along Billy’s knuckles. “I mean it. You’re stuck with me now.”

Wide eyes follow when he takes his hand back, too wide, too open as they peer up at him.

Billy’s leaning forward and suddenly he has his arms full of Billy Hargrove. Not unlike that night about a month ago, but also different in every way. Steve can feel his strength in the way that he grips his shoulder blade, definitely hard enough that there’s bruises. Curls are in his face and Billy’s sweater is itchy against his skin. And he couldn't care less.

He leans into him, letting himself sag against his shoulder. He feels Billy’s chuckle rumble deep in his chest.

“You, too.”

Steve lets his eyes slip shut. Just for a second or two, he tells himself, they can have this.

Billy rests his head atop Steve’s and he feels rather than hears him relax. Tense, he’s so tense all the time. Even when he manages to fall asleep while Steve is there. So this is good. It feels good.

He spots Hopper over Billy’s shoulder, paper bag in hand, and the man smiles. He holds up a finger, points outside to the hallway, and leaves them be. 

Billy squeezes him tight before they part. Steve ignores how his eyes sting and picks up the duffel at their feet.

“Ready?”

Billy breathes out. “Lead the way.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI. 
> 
> This was my first harringrove fic I ever wrote (started back in JULY?) and so I really wanted to revisit it today. Hence, I wrote a bunch for it, completely unbetaed and unedited. Which I wasn't planning on at all? Surprise?
> 
> I love Jim Hopper

Staying with the Chief and his kid is. Weird.

It's weird because it isn’t as fucking weird as he wishes it was. They’re really fucking good people, is the thing, like Steve, and he doesn’t know what to do with that. How to react to it.

He doesn’t deserve any of this. 

He isn’t good. He’s something wrong, something the world spat out. Cruel and angry and definitely not deserving of Steve’s kindness right now. His hand trembles as Steve tangles their hands together over the dashboard because he can’t _breathe_. Swears he can see that mass of bodies following them, chasing through the trees.

He itches for a smoke, to put something in his hands, clenches his fist and wants so desperately for it to connect with something when they enter the treeline.

But Steve understands. Doesn’t pull some shit like saying sorry, doesn’t point those big doe eyes his way in pity. He turns off the radio and puts in a Springsteen tape, one he’d confessed to loving when doped up on morphine after vomiting his body weight in black bile over the side of his bed a couple weeks back.

Steve sings along quietly, taps his knee, licks at his lips that Billy wants to bite into. There’s still a scab on the lower one, the flesh around it angry and pink. He fidgets. He’s freaked out too, knows there’s monsters and Russian fucks on his mind. But he lets Steve believe he’s hiding it well, and pulls his hand to his mouth. Presses a kiss to his wrist and watches Steve’s flush travel down to his collar. Wonders where it stops. 

Steve sucks in a breath, knuckles white on the steering wheel. And he wants, he wants and he can’t have because he doesn’t fucking deserve it. Won’t dare say a thing. What a fucking pair they make.

They pull up behind Hopper’s car, park in open space. Steve’s eyes slide to the bat in the backseat, stained with streaks of black. Like tar, he thinks, like the shit clogging up his veins still. He follows him out, breathes in cold air and feels his lungs cry out at the first taste of something that isn’t stifling or sterile in weeks.

Steve wrings his hands when El comes out to the porch with a couple of Tupperware boxes.

She stares and Steve reddens. “Hop says you gotta take care of yourself.”

Steve takes them with a grumble and shoves them in his passenger seat. Nods El’s way and they both watch as she walks inside, the door closing behind her. It wavers for a second, her mind powers or whatever the fuck they are weakened but still there, before simply slamming closed.

Then Steve flushes, hands twitching, and asks if he can hug Billy goodbye. Asks if it’d hurt. Billy pushes close and ducks his head in his neck to avoid saying something he shouldn’t, gets some fancy cologne up his nostrils that’s somehow entirely _ Steve _, and wraps his arms around his waist. Steve rocks them, hums against Billy’s hair until he has no choice but to leave for work.

“Call me, yeah?” He murmurs, pretty doe eyes boring into his, and Billy melts. Nods. Watches him leave until he can’t see the car anymore and there’s a _woosh_ telling him El’s opened the door up again. 

“If you want me to come inside, at least get off your ass and ask, kid,” He calls out, stepping onto the patio anyway. El grins at him from the couch, legs tucked under her, and waves a hand. 

“Tour the cabin soon?” She asks, peers up at him all quiet and timid like she hadn’t fucked that meat spider up alongside him a month ago.

“Sure thing,” He’s wringing his hands again when Hopper steps in from the kitchen, juggling three plates of Eggos. Two are plain, with cream only, and another drowns in sprinkles. It makes him bark a laugh and, for the most part, that seems to ease all three of them.

Like, he figures this is just as awkward for them as it is him. They barely know him, unless you count letting one into your head and the other let you off easy for speeding in the dead of the night. But they were trying, so he was gonna do his fucking hardest to do the same. 

Billy lowers himself to the couch with a little help from Hopper, careful not to bloody any fresh bandaging, and digs into the most solid food he's had in weeks.

After, they do give him a tour of the cabin, the traps and the forest around it. It should feel trapping, enclosing, the branches winding all around the cabin. But its nice, actually. Better than the streets of Hawkins.

It’s pretty basic, there’s boards on half of the windows and it honestly looks more like a hoarder’s wet dream than a home but it's a breath of fucking fresh air compared to Cherry Lane. The air is fresh and full of moisture and open. There’s fairy lights strung above the entryway and a bookshelf decorated in drawings he’s sure are Little Byer's of all the kids. Board games hastily packed away, post it notes all over the kitchen. Polaroids on a pinboard of all the kids, of Hopper, of Wheeler and the creep that hung around like a bad smell. There’s a couple of Steve too, one of him and Buckley grinning at the camera. It makes him smile.

The crisp chill as he stands at the porch watching the Chief bring one of his _ two _duffels inside is unfamiliar and welcome all the same and he takes it by the lungful.

It takes all of twenty minutes for them to set up Billy’s room. It’s almost funny. There’s no functioning door but a curtain across a shower pole separating it from the rest of the cabin. There’s a bed already set up that the kid perches herself on, reading an X-Men comic aloud to him to fill the silence he didn’t mean to curate, it just kind of happens now. He spaces out a lot, gets lost in his head and can’t find his way out. Doesn’t much care for being centre of attention anymore.

His clothes fill not even half of the wardrobe. A handful of his records and books lay at the bottom, dog-eared and mocking as they barely dent the space inside the new oak. Neil has definitely had the rest thrown out by now, probably chucked them the second he heard Billy was involved in the _ accident _. Fuck that. Fuck him.

El smiles sweetly up at him when he stutters around the lump in his throat and asks her how Scarlet Witch defeated her enemies. She laughs, tucks hair behind her ear, and says her mind.

She helps him set up his vanity, puts his hair products and shit in a neat little set that, admittedly, looks nice. She picks up the eyeliner he’d always kept hidden behind his mirror and swipes a black squiggle along her palm. Asks how to put it on. Billy had snorted, caught her up on the use of makeup, and somehow ended up applying it on a physic fourteen year old while Hopper watches Miami Vice reruns.

Nobody brings up the obvious, pizza is ordered and they share it between the three of them. It's nice, almost. Makes him miss Max, weirdly, even if Steve had agreed to bring her over tomorrow.

And then the girl falls asleep, the Chief carries her to bed and goes to his own. Then he’s alone.

He lays with the light on in his room. Stares at the chip in the window frame and thinks about how well the monster’s arm would fit through the glass. The light buzzes, a moth flitting into it over and over and dancing shadows along the wall. 

The lack of silence, no matter how low, qualms his fear for a moment’s peace and he finds himself falling into some hazy state of sleep.

Emptiness greets him like an old friend. As it has every night without fail since the warehouse. Silence. A pressure on his throat and a chill up his spine. There’s nothing but cold, open space. The darkness encloses on him with every step he takes, the air tight and ripping heavy breaths from his lungs. Then the thing is there, made up of something other than goop. Like it's made of ash, or dust. Something angry and foreign and it’s coming closer.

A limb reaches for him and he tries. He tries as hard as he can. He pushes it away, moves to tear it apart as he had in the mall. And yet it continues to pursue him, looming above. It reaches, he feels his body go cold and-

He wakes with a scream ripped from his throat.

He shoots up and out of the sheets he’d gotten tangled up in. He pulls them from his clammy body, watches them tear and fall with some kind of vague, out of body acknowledgment and stumbles out into the main area. He couldn’t see, couldn’t hear anything but that thing in his ear and he’d _ tried _, tried so hard and he lost. And the thing was never going to leave him alone.

His legs carry him to the bathroom and he fumbles for the light switch, hand too big and fucking useless as it trembles. He caught sight of his face, streaked red and wet and miserable. This was how he looked now. Useless. Gaunt. He’d lost so much muscle in the hospital. His scars are striking even in the dim lighting as they stick out from his skin. Matted curls cover his face, limp and dark. 

God. He couldn’t bring himself to look any longer. He was a fucking corpse walking, he shouldn’t be here.

He finds the scissors in the cabinet above the mirror and it's the first and easiest choice he’s made in months when he lifts the instrument to his hair. They’re shitty and rusty but they do the job well enough. He hacks at the curls that stick to his face, cling to his jaw and do nothing but remind him of the mall. His hair had been in his face then, too, though it hadn’t stopped him seeing Max’s fear before he’d knocked her out cold.

He heaves in air, fucking useless, shitty air, and he can’t get enough. There’s hair all over him, in the basin, dark in the dim light and they break the purity as much as he does in the cabin itself.

He hadn’t done enough. He hadn’t fought it's influence off hard enough. So many people died because of him, Jesus, he hurt those kids. He hurt _ Max _.

He’s tired, so, so tired of existing and _ breathing _when Heather and so many others weren’t. Because of him. He’s not worth any of this. Not this cabin, not their kindness and certainly not Steve’s.

He’d been so cruel to him, thought if he punched hard enough it’d quash the way he made Billy’s breath catch then he’d smashed a plate over his head and somehow Steve still wanted to be his friend. He wasn’t quite sure how but he knew he didn’t fucking deserve it. Steve had crawled into his veins and made him feel more alive than any blood on his knuckles ever had. And he didn’t know how to deal with that.

He registers the sound of something snapping at will and. Oh. The scissors sit in a crushed pile in his palm. 

Fuck this damn thing, he was through with it. He couldn’t control it, he couldn’t feel anything without this power or whatever the fuck it was activating. Couldn’t so much as cry without something breaking, something shaking. He didn’t understand. 

He was a loose canon, he could admit as much. Wasn’t able to control his emotions. Or his fists. And now this thing had to come along and just make it worse. He was too scared to express anything. Was this how the girl felt?

He smashes his hand down on the vanity and revels for a moment as he feels it splinter his fist. When he lifts his hand again, he _ feels _his bones stitch back together and watched incredulously as each splinter pushes from his skin and to the floor. He drops the metal with a clang, his heart going a mile a minute and caught in his throat.

_ Jesus Christ _, what the fuck was wrong with him?

The tears come easily as he slides down and curls up against the bathtub. His frame wracks and he accepts it. Ignores the curls that stick to his forehead.

“Kid?”

“Shit,” Billy rushes to stand and meets the Chief’s gaze. El stands behind him, her arms around his waist. He looks to the hair, the basin, the scissors, and his cheeks flame. He lowers his head. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, just an accident. Accidents happen in this house a lot, huh, El?”

He talks to Billy so softly that under any other circumstances he would scoff and flip him off. But he stays frozen to the spot, lump in his throat, suddenly aware of the fucking state he must look if the Chief of police is approaching him like a rabid dog.

“I’m sorry, sir,” He repeats, chest heaving, and he can’t breathe, he can’t-

“El,” The Chief’s eyes don’t leave Billy’s face, “Can you go pick me up the kitchen scissors please?”

“Yes.”

Hopper picks up the quashed metal beside Billy’s feet and places it on the basin. And Billy can’t stop shaking, jaw clenched as Hopper steps closer. 

“Hey, kid, c’mon,” His hand hovers over Billy’s shoulder, allowing him space, and Billy sniffles. “Can you sit up straight for me? Get your knees away from your chest?"

“Yeah,” He forces out, choking on the words. They’re heavy, he can’t breathe around them and his chest feels full. He pushes his legs out, lanky and useless. “Okay.”

“You’re alright,” The Chief’s face is serious though his eyes are kind and Billy wants to run. Instead, he sits and watches as the Chief crouches down with him.

“I didn’t mean to. I didn’t- I mean. I had a nightmare and I wanted to… get rid of it, you know? It just reminds me of, uh, of everything. ”

He can taste blood in his mouth, stops biting down on his lip and breathes out.

El stumbles into the room, mid-yawn. She hands the scissors to her father and shows no qualms as she settles herself beside Billy and lays her head on his shoulder. 

She took his hand in her own and settles them between their laps. “Breathe okay?”

He inhales, nods, unsure.

The Chief leans a hand on his shoulder and squeezes. “You’re okay, you’re here. And once you calm down, I’ll sort your hair out. Best as I can do in the middle of the night, okay?”

“Yeah.”

He sucks in a breath, and El’s grip tightens. His chest aches, hollow and the middle carved out in the shape of punctures. He knows he’s fine, that he’s here with strangers who for some reasons care about him, and not trapped in that place anymore. He knows. But that doesn’t mean shit when he hurts so much.

“I can’t-”

His tongue felt heavy, every part of him aching. 

“I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me,” He chokes out and El makes a sad, little noise that kinda breaks his heart.

“Nothing wrong about panic attacks, kid. You’re not the only one under this roof dealing with them.”

“My hair-”

“Looks bitchin’,” El cuts in quickly, grins around a yawn. She squeezes his hand again and he can hear waves crash in his head, his mother’s laughter.

She’s trying to remind him of that day again, he realises after a pause, and he manages a stretched smile at the effort.

“Bitchin’.”

“As far as haircuts go, I’ve seen worse. Hell, _ had _worse. At least you didn’t go for sideburns.” The chief chuckles at the semblance of some past he hasn’t quite cut loose, and his smile is tired but kind.

“I had no hair, b-bald? Then it stuck everywhere. Spiky. Yours is better than _ that _.”

The chief ruffled her hair mussed from sleep and she barked out a laugh as she leans further against Billy.

“Exactly.”

Something warm curled in his chest, odd and light and foreign. Broke into and dislodged whatever shit had remained there since the warehouse. He’d never experienced something like this, not since California and surfing alone with his mom.

He snorts a laugh before getting a lungful of air. “I’m sure you fucking rocked it.”

“She did,” The older man nudged her as she yawned again. “C’mon, El, back to bed. You don’t want to see me ruin your buddy’s hair.”

“Think the damage is already done, sir.”

“Hopper,” He corrected, his brows drawn. El stood and made her way out with a quiet _ good night. _Billy’s wave was half-assed, now that the adrenaline had worn off and his body was worn out. “You get them every night?”

“Huh?”

“The nightmares. They must be pretty bad to put you this on edge,” Hopper said it like a statement and Billy was unable to detect any emotion from it. He may be out of the uniform, but he supposed the need to solve, to uncover, never really left.

“Well, you tell me,” Billy scoffed a laugh, his head aching in the high of the night, “You ever been possessed, _ Hop _? Made to kill people you knew? Shit, you ever get insane fucking powers you don’t want or know how to handle when by all logic you should be in the ground? Turns out they make for awful nightmares.”

“I’m sorry, kid. I am.” Hopper ran his hand through his hair. “But I guarantee you, nobody blames you. Okay?”

Maybe it was something about the kindness exerted under this little roof or the deliriousness after waking, but he wanted to admit what happened. He swallowed. 

“I felt myself dying. When it punctured me, the pain was... shit. Unlike anything. I felt the blood seep out of me and then I- I got so angry. I don’t know how I faced that thing but it fucking terrified me. The entire thing. And sometimes…”

He broke off into a sob, a bubble of incredulous laughter leaving at the situation. At the memory resurfacing.

“Hey, hey, come here,” Hopper didn’t ask when he put an arm over his shoulder and pulled his head to his shoulder. Didn’t mention anything when Billy’s first reaction is to flinch at the touch. Billy ignored the itch to hit back and run. Instead, gave in and let himself cry. Truly, for the first time. The only time.

There was a hand rubbing between his shoulder blades, heavy and steadying.

He continued, muffled, sniffling between words. “I told Steve- I said I couldn’t remember anything. And I didn’t, not at first. But it's all I see every night now, every time it's cold, whenever there’s a fucking shadow… I feel it there still. And the power I have- I shouldn’t and it scares me. What if I… I’ve killed people-”

Jim pulled back, enough to place his hand on his shoulder. “It’s not your fault, Billy. It used you as a vessel. This isn’t me trying to make you feel better. It’s a stone cold fact. You’re a victim. And you’re a good kid, just lost. Okay?”

“I’m not,” He looked away to the basin, splintered in the shape of a fist. Thought of Steve’s face, El’s throat, Heather’s cries, and knew it to be true. “I’m a piece of shit. That’s why it picked me.”

“It picks on the vulnerable, the hurting. Why else do you think it went for the Byers’ kid? He seem like a bad kid to you, Billy?”

“Of course not, he’s just a kid-”

“Well, there’s your answer. That thing doesn’t care, it just hurts and it takes and you were just in the wrong fucking place.”

“I tried to fight it,” Billy mumbled, letting his head hang down. “I held it off as long as I could.”

“And my daughter’s here because of that,” Jim’s voice broke, and Billy was shocked to see Jim’s eyes misty. “Your sister, Steve, all of them. I owe you everything. We all do.”

Billy bit at his cheek. “Well, you closed the gate.”

“Yeah, _ after _you split the son of a bitch in half.”

“I guess.”

Jim smiled something sad, shaking his head. “Alright, alright. You want to go back to sleep and get you down to Melvin’s in the morning or do you want me to try and sort this out?”

Billy thought of it. Being out in public, of the high street and stares and condescending looks of sorrow. He shook his head.

“I don’t feel like going out in public yet.”

Jim nodded, “Smart choice. At least until you get a handle on it better. But it is always your choice, Billy. I want you to know that.”

He chanced a look at his reflection, more clear now that he could breathe. His curls were at varying lengths, one long lock sticking out from the top of his head and swooping over his forehead. It looked ridiculous. 

“Shit,” And he was laughing, covering his face with his hands.

“Yeah, you really did a number on it, huh,” Jim joined him, bending to retrieve the scissors from the basin that El had brought. Much longer and sturdier looking than the ones he’d ruined. “Wanna go sit at the table? A lot comfier than the tiles and I can actually see what I’m doing.”

Billy smiled, shrugged. “Sure.”

He followed the other man through to the main area and squinted as the refrigerator door was thrown open. “Beer?”

“I’m underage-”

“We just established you saved my girl’s life. It's just a beer, alright?” Jim leveled him with a look. He placed two bottles on the tabletop beside the scissors and popped one open to take a long mouthful. “Anyway, you don’t think I’ve seen you off your head at a couple parties we got called at to break up?”

Billy pursed his lips, shrugged. Took the beer. “I don’t really think that’s my style, anymore. I was _ such _a dick.”

“Well, I’m not gonna go throwing you in a cell if I come home and you want a beer or a smoke. Hell, I was up to much worse at your age.”

Billy fidgeted with the string on his shirt. Long-sleeved. “You went to school here with Ms Byers, didn’t you?”

Jim’s face tinged pink and he took another gulp. “Yup. Stuck together since Ninth Grade. How’d you know that?”

Billy feels his own face heat up, and he frowns at the betrayal. “Steve likes to talk.”

“He doesn’t know how to stop,” Jim’s mouth twinged, and he watched Billy with some incomprehensible look. “Y’know, I’m glad that you’re friends. You’re good for each other. Balance the other out.”

Billy knows his face is red. He swallows, nods. Takes a long, long drink. “He’s been helping me deal with everything, I guess. And it's nice to, uh, have someone that actually cares. So.”

“He’s a good guy,” Jim observes. “I want you to know that it's fine if you wanted him to come over, whenever. I want you to feel comfortable here.”

Billy peered up through his hair, his heart rabbiting away behind his ribs. He was met with a smile, genuine and kind.

“Okay.”

“Alright,” Jim drilled his hands on the tabletop, picked up the scissors and stood. “You want me to try and salvage the mullet?”

Billy didn’t have to think twice. “I just want it away from my face, please. Fuck the mullet.”

Jim huffed out a laugh and Billy unclenched his jaw as he heard a snip. “You got it.”

* * *

“She just stole an empty case?”

Billy sat back, pulled the dial box closer into his arms and pulled his knees up to his chest. He kept the phone between his shoulder and ear, cord tangled in his fingers.

“Yeah, man, _ Atlantis Interceptors _ of all things.” Steve’s voice came through tinny, a little garbled. He heard a laugh, “You should’ve seen it, like, Robin’s face. And it was technically my shift so I got into shit with Keith for it, obviously. Fucking dick.”

“Jesus, that guy always annoyed the fuck out of me. Fucking _ reeks _of cheetos.”

Steve breathes a laugh down the phone, “Mm. He’s moved onto takis now, nitro ones. The shop stinks of it.”

“Well,” Billy takes a mouthful of the second beer he’d pulled out after Jim had gone back to bed, “I’m glad my car’s fucked so I don’t have to take Max by there anymore.”

There’s a pause where he can only hear Steve sighing, muffled, and he fights a laugh knowing Steve must be covering the receiver. 

“I can take her for you, if you want me to? I’m working all early shifts this week since Keith has been on my ass so, y’know, I _ could _. I know the kids like to be there early as hell. I can still bring her over tomorrow, too, if you like. I think it’d be good for you.”

Billy ignores how his pulse skyrockets and agrees. “Yeah, yeah, sure. Thank you.”

“No problem,” Steve yawns high-pitched in his ear and, like, _ ow _. “Sorry. I never even got to sleep. The kids wanted to play the Atari then when they left and I was alone. I just… freaked out, I guess.”

Billy isn’t sure what to do with this, Steve opening up so willingly to him. He swallows, tries for laughs instead, “You didn’t cut _ the _hair, did you?”

Steve snorts a laugh, a high, little wheeze that tugs Billy’s mouth into a relieved smile. “Thankfully, no. I’m alright though. Tired. I thought maybe… I thought talking to you would ease my mind a bit. And I was worried about you, the cabin’s different to some hospital room, y’know?”

“Jesus, go to sleep,” He ran his hand over his face, ignoring how his heart caught. “It's like four in the morning.”

“Maybe. I just- I _ know _you said you are, but are you sure you’re alright?”

“I wasn’t,” He admits, “I mean, I broke the fucking sink.”

"Shit, man," Steve’s voice was quiet. “Was it about the, uh, the mind flayer again?”

“Yeah, same as usual. It was chasing me in some void this time, though. Like that time El tried to- when she saw my memories.”

“And you’re still in contact with that Owens guy, right?”

“Yeah, bastard wouldn’t let me leave the hospital without signing a million things and agreeing that I see him like every week. How the hell am I meant to get there when my car's fucked?”

“I could take you, or Hop could. Hell, Ms Byers would. We’ll figure it out, alright? One step at a time, man.”

“It's not your responsibility,” Billy bit into his lip. “You have work.”

“Uh, first of all, you’re my friend which means, _ shockingly _, I care about you. I wanna help because of that. Not because I feel responsible, you ass.”

Billy stares at the can in front of him, attempts to crush it and quell the way his stomach flips. “My first appointment is on Friday, so.”

“Then I’ll be there in the morning and we can catch the eleven-fifteen Cheers reruns.”

Billy couldn’t keep the smile off of his face. “Fine, whatever. You gonna sleep now, dickhead?”

Steve sighed. “Don’t want to.”

He grinned, stifling a laugh. “You’re so fucking annoying, Harrington. _ My God _.”

“Only for you.” He went quiet for a moment. “Seriously, though. When I bring Max over, you better be asleep.”

Billy watched the sun approach in the distance, coating the outside trees in gold. “Sure thing.”

“Good,” Steve yawns again, “Sleep well, Billy.”

And surprisingly, curled up right there on the couch, he does.

**Author's Note:**

> twt is @thchateaus and tumblr is flayedgroves! come say hi!


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